Free Strangers in the Desert by Lynn Raye Harris Page B

to his plans.
    “He’s the only one who knows the truth about what happened,” she continued.
    A wave of frustration rolled through him then. He very much wanted to speak to Hassan Maro, as well. He wanted to know the truth. “Your father is out of the country.”
    She seemed to sink in on herself then, her shoulders slumping, the fire inside her flickering dangerously. One breath, he thought, and it would go out.
    “It figures.” She sighed.
    He suddenly found himself wanting to pull her into his arms and comfort her. But he would not. He couldn’t afford to soften toward her, couldn’t allow his judgment to be clouded or to make her think something more was possible between them.
    Then why are you taking her to the Butterfly Palace and letting her spend time with Rafiq?
    Because he had to get her to agree to a divorce. That was it, the only reason—aside from the issue of keeping her return a secret from the public, of course. They would be isolated, but he would have plenty to keep him busy. He had a nation to run. He would never be alone with her. Kalila would be there, and Mahmoud, as well as a small staff.
    He would spend time with her and Rafiq during the day. At night, they would go to separate rooms. It was a good plan. A sound plan.
    “I have left orders that he is to be brought to me the moment he returns,” he said. “It is the best I can do.”
    She tilted her chin up as her strength returned. “Fine. And now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll go to bed. It’s been a long day.”
    “Of course,” he said, sweeping his arm wide to indicate that she precede him inside. She didn’t stop once indoors, marching straight to the hall door and holding it open for him. It wasn’t until he was halfway back to his own room that he realized he’d just been dismissed.
    Early the next morning, a team of tailors and their assistants arrived. Isabella had just finished breakfastwhen the knock on her door sounded. A moment later, a servant led the procession into the outer rooms of her suite.
    “His Excellency says you are to have a new wardrobe, my lady,” the head tailor offered by way of explanation.
    The morning was filled with measurements, choosing from bright bolts of silk georgette, and standing still for fittings of a few readymade items the women had brought along. Isabella felt self-conscious. She wanted to protest that she did not need so much, but the truth was she had no idea whether she did. Adan had said two weeks, but of course she hoped for more. The clothing she’d brought with her wouldn’t get her through much more than a week.
    She already missed her life in Hawaii, and yet she missed it the way you miss something that happened in the past—not as if it was something she desired now. Because now that she’d met her baby, she couldn’t imagine anywhere else she wanted to be.
    She did not know how they would work this out between them, but she hoped to be a part of Rafiq’s life for far longer than two weeks. She sensed this was a test and, as much as it infuriated her to have to take it, she was determined not to fail.
    By the time Adan came for her later that afternoon, she had a suitcase full of clothes to take along. She’d dressed in a soft green
abaya
for the trip by car into the desert. The garment skimmed her form, suggesting curves rather than delineating them.
    Adan stopped short when he entered the room and she stood up. His eyes slid over her appreciatively, but he banked the fire in them as he met her gaze.

    “You are ready, then?”
    “Yes,” she replied, as coolly as she could manage.
    The ride to the Butterfly Palace took just over two hours in the caravan of Land Rovers that rolled up and down giant red sand dunes. The desert was stark and beautiful, and yet it made her heart beat crazily in her chest.
    Was it because she had walked into the desert alone, as Adan said? Whatever had happened to her had happened out here. And that made her nervous.
    She sat